Thursday, October 12, 2017

The Daily Mail in the UK and other outlets are reporting on this story. This version is from the News of Bahrain, reprinted from the Daily Mail. Dateline 10/10/17. A link to the story in the Bahrain Times is here.

Riyadh : A groom
in Saudi Arabia walked out of his own wedding ceremony after the
bride’s father insisted that his daughter be allowed to drive after
their marriage.

The bride’s father had demanded that
his daughter get a driving license and a car when Saudi Arabia lifts its
ban on women driving in June 2018.

The groom, who had
agreed to a dowry of 40,000 riyals ($10,666) as well as letting his
soon-to-be wife continue working after getting married, was so surprised
by the additional demand that he left the ceremony.

The father’s request was made just minutes before the religious wedding ceremony was set to begin, according to Al-Marsd.

The groom quickly rejected the request and walked out of the building, leaving his family behind.

He then asked his cousins to bring dinner to his fiancee’s family, but did not participate in the feast.

Last month, Saudi Arabia lifted its long-criticized ban on women driving. The lift will go into effect in June 2018.

The historic decision to allow women to drive won plaudits internationally and inside the kingdom last month.

King
Salman’s decree, which takes effect next June, is part of an ambitious
reform push that runs the risk of a backlash from religious hardliners.

US
President Donald Trump welcomed the decision as ‘a positive step toward
promoting the rights and opportunities of women in Saudi Arabia’.

British Prime Minister Theresa May hailed it as an ‘important step towards gender equality’.

Saudi
Arabia will use the ‘preparatory period’ until June to expand licensing
facilities and develop the infrastructure to accommodate millions of
new motorists, state media said.

With more than half
the country aged under 25, Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, the king’s
son and the architect of the reforms, is seen as catering to the
aspirations of youths.

Katherine Zoepf writes this opinion piece in the New Yorker of October 13, 2017. A link to the story is here, and the story is pasted below.

In granting Saudi women the right to drive, King Salman and his family, too, were speaking more
to the world than to their subjects.

On the last Tuesday in September, Rindala al-Ajaji, a twenty-year-old
N.Y.U. student from Saudi Arabia, was spending the afternoon doing
homework in the Bobst Library. Shortly after 3 P.M., she took a break to
check her Facebook feed and saw a headline that struck her as an obvious
attempt at satire: “Saudi Arabia Agrees to Let Women Drive.”
Irritated—Saudi women living overseas are wearingly familiar with their
personal freedoms being treated as fodder for comedy—Ajaji clicked on
the link. When she realized that it wasn’t an Onion article but rather
a breaking-news story in the Times, Ajaji burst into tears. King
Salman had issued a royal decree granting Saudi women the right to
drive. She rushed out of the library and called her mother in Riyadh.
Ajaji could scarcely make out her mother’s voice over the sounds of
jubilation in the background. “I could just hear screaming,” she told
me. The family was hurrying out to an impromptu party at a relative’s
house, and Ajaji wished that she were home. “I didn’t think I’d see this
happen in my lifetime,” she said.

Ajaji had grown up hearing stories about the forty-seven female
activists who, on November 6, 1990, drove through Riyadh to protest for
Saudi women’s right to drive. Two of Ajaji’s maternal aunts, Wafa and
Majida al-Muneef, were among “the drivers,” as the demonstrators are
collectively known. The drivers were jailed, fired from their jobs, and
excoriated from mosque pulpits across the kingdom, but, for the Muneef
sisters’ family, the protest became a source of quiet pride. “Growing
up, November 6th was always a day to remember,” Ajaji said. “I was
raised with the idea that it’s one of the biggest things that has ever
happened in Saudi women’s history.”

International media coverage of last month’s royal decree focussed,
understandably enough, on the reactions of the Saudi female
right-to-drive activists, who have become relatively well-known figures
in the West. But it’s worth noting that, in her abiding and passionate
interest in the right-to-drive movement, Ajaji is unusual. For most
Saudi women, even in the generation that has grown up with the Internet,
the protest in 1990 is not widely remembered. At the time, the
international media covered it as a major story—the drivers had
intentionally looked to attract attention from the high number of
foreign journalists who were in the kingdom covering the buildup to the
first Gulf War—and it subsequently became an important reference point
for Western scholars and journalists writing about Saudi Arabia. Yet,
within the kingdom, the protest retained no such status. After Saudi
leaders satisfied themselves that the dissenters had been crushed, the
episode effectively vanished from public conversation. In nearly a
decade of reporting trips to the kingdom, I have met no more than a
handful of Saudis who have even heard of it.

In 2007, on my first trip to Saudi Arabia, I spent more than two months
interviewing dozens of female students at three Saudi universities.
Rather pedantically, I made a point of asking each young woman what she
thought about a petition that the Saudi feminist Wajeha al-Huwaider had
recently submitted to King Abdullah, asking that women be given the
right to drive. I’d hoped to turn up an intriguing theme for an article,
but, to my disappointment, Huwaider’s name and my descriptions of her
efforts produced nothing but blank stares. Though the young women were
all bright and well informed, they were neither aware of Huwaider nor
interested in driving, and seemed puzzled about why I had imagined that
they would be.

In 2010, visiting the kingdom to report on the women’s-rights campaigns
that had begun to proliferate thanks to the Internet, I went to meet
Huwaider herself, at her home in Dhahran. At the time, Huwaider was
running several online campaigns, including the right-to-drive campaign,
and a campaign calling for an end to Saudi Arabia’s strict guardianship
laws, which put Saudi women under the legal authority of male relatives.
Earlier in the trip, I’d met with women’s-rights activists in Riyadh who
were working on these issues and so, after the interview, and because
Huwaider had mentioned that she didn’t know the women, I suggested
making introductions. Huwaider demurred, which baffled me; I’d imagined
that, by coördinating with activists in another city, she’d be able to
increase the awareness of her campaigns within the kingdom. I spent five
more years reporting on activism in Saudi Arabia before I finally
understood that, for Huwaider and other social-justice and pro-democracy
advocates in the kingdom, their fellow-Saudis have never been the
primary intended audience. They were speaking to the world outside.

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Activists can properly take some of the credit for King Salman’s
decision to overturn the ban on women driving. But their activism was of
a rather peculiar kind: it was aimed less at galvanizing fellow-citizens
than it was at attracting, and holding, the sympathies of foreigners.
There are several reasons for this. For one thing, the Saudi government
maintains a high degree of control over media outlets in the kingdom.
And, in a society with strong traditions of privacy and weak traditions
of individual rights, activists are reflexively viewed with suspicion.
But the most important reason for Saudi activists choosing to focus on
foreigners is that the kingdom is a kingdom: domestic public opinion
means infinitely less to an absolute monarch than it does to an elected
official.

In overturning the ban, the King and his family, too, were speaking more
to the world than to their subjects. News of King Salman’s decree, which
will allow Saudi women to begin driving in the kingdom next June, was
released simultaneously in Riyadh and Washington, D.C.—and it was no
accident that the splashier media event, a press conference hosted by
Prince Khalid bin Salman, Saudi Arabia’s Ambassador to the United
States, was the one held in D.C. While Prince Khalid’s meeting with
reporters was held in the mid-afternoon, maximizing the announcement’s
effect on the news cycle in the U.S., Saudi leaders chose a more subdued
approach—a short statement read aloud on the nightly news—for the
domestic announcement. Many Saudis, including Hessah al-Sheikh, an
academic who took part in the driving protest in 1990, missed the
initial broadcast. “It was late, and I was already in bed, reading a
book,” Sheikh told me. She was startled when a niece, who had been
watching the news, called after 10 P.M. “I was very surprised. It won’t
be easy for many people to have this happen.”

For Sheikh, part of the surprise was that the decree was issued by King
Salman, a ruler who, in an earlier role, as the governor of Riyadh, had
led the crackdown on her and the other forty-six drivers in the protest.
“Everyone had this expectation that, once Salman is king, you can forget
about women’s rights,” Dara Sahab, an attorney in Jeddah, told me.
Unlike his much beloved predecessor, King Abdullah, whose eponymous
scholarship program sent thousands of young Saudis to study overseas,
and who allowed Saudi women to become lawyers and to work in retail,
King Salman has a longstanding reputation as a hard-liner. His ascension
to the throne, in January, 2015, had an immediate chilling effect on
activism in the kingdom, and it was followed by a seventy-six-per-cent
spike in the rate of executions by beheading.

It seems fairly safe to conclude that, with his driving decree, King
Salman was not announcing any newfound ideological commitment to human
rights or gender equality. During the past two weeks, numerous
academics, human-rights researchers, and expatriate Saudi dissidents
have offered theories to explain Salman’s motivations. Many of these
analysts have suggested that the decree was an effort to deflect
attention from the arrest, in September, of more than thirty dissidents
and clerics, and from a United Nations Human Rights Council vote on
whether to investigate Saudi war crimes in Yemen. But while these
specific events may have played a role in the timing, it is likely that
King Salman’s decision was largely an acknowledgment of a fact that the
kingdom has taken years to realize: Saudi Arabia can no longer afford to
ignore global opinion about its treatment of women.

For years, high oil prices kept the ruling family comfortable. But, in
2014, plummeting oil prices sent Saudi leaders racing to diversify their
economy. The following January, King Salman’s son, Mohammed bin Salman
(who was named Crown Prince this June) was placed in charge of the
effort. Saudi Arabian leaders were then finally forced to think hard
about the gender-segregated infrastructure—the women-only offices,
shops, bank branches, sections of government agencies, and all the
rest—that have been built and maintained for decades at enormous
expense. These leaders have shown no sign of wanting to abandon gender
segregation wholesale, but some analysts believe that they have begun to
recognize the real costs involved in squandering the talents of nearly
half their population.

“Saudi women get better degrees, and they work harder. They have more to
prove,” Bernard Haykel, a professor in Near Eastern studies at Princeton
University, told me. “The Saudis finally understand that the economy
will not diversify or reform without bringing women into the workforce.”
But even if they are soon able to drive, millions of Saudi women won’t
be employed overnight. If Saudi Arabia is to avoid a prolonged period of
austerity, Haykel explained, it needs foreign investment. Mohammed bin
Salman understands that the foreign investors the kingdom hopes to
attract aren’t impressed by “a weird situation where women aren’t
present,” Haykel said.

The Saudi government has many issues that it needs to discuss with the
world, but women’s-rights issues were derailing those conversations.
Giving women the right to drive was a relatively painless concession for
the king to make. Some Saudis warn that the decision to end the driving
ban may turn out to be mostly symbolic. Women will still need power of
attorney from a male relative to acquire a car, and will risk jail time
for disobeying male guardians. Activists in the country will still live
under threat. (According to one women’s-rights campaigner I emailed, at
least two dozen female intellectuals, including some who have not been
involved in recent right-to-drive efforts, received threatening calls
from security officers at the Diwan, warning them against even making
positive public comments on the new decree.) But, to my surprise,
several of the Saudi women I’ve spoken to in the past two weeks
expressed relief that their leaders have moved to retake control of the
narrative about their country. In a Facebook post shortly after the
announcement, Dara Sahab, the Jeddah attorney, summed up the general
mood: “Good news to the rest of the world. You can leave us alone now.”

It has been two weeks and two days since the royal decree was issued to allow women to get driver's licenses in Saudi Arabia next year. It seemed for so long, that the day would never come. And then it did. I was out of the country, without my laptop. An American friend posted the story on facebook and tagged me. It took me by surprise, yet it was, and is, glorious news. For eight years, I've been posting stories and opinion pieces about the issues surrounding women driving in Saudi Arabia. There were weeks when there was no news. The issue seemed to fade into the background. Yet, from my own years living in Saudi Arabia, I knew that the frustrations of Saudi women continued, as they tried to carry on their daily lives with the added hurdle of transportation.

And then it happened. I always wondered what it would be like. Would women take to the streets right away? No, they did not. Would there be wide protests? No, there were not. Saudi society is absorbing this change. The first driving school for women is said to be underway. Authorities are planning the implementation of the law. Women are choosing their first cars, and the auto industry is no doubt celebrating at the new market they can sell to in the Kingdom.

As for this blog, it moves into a new stage of tracking how the implementation of the law will happen. I am particularly fascinated to see how women's added independent mobility will change daily life there. I will keep posting stories on this, as well as opinion pieces from various points of view.

Congratulations to all those who fought for this change, and to all their supporters behind the scenes. I congratulate those who spoke up for women driving at all levels of society, and to the brave men who supported the women they know in their quest for this privilege.

Sometimes the end of a great endeavor ends quietly. I think the end of this particular endeavor is actually the beginning of a more fruitful and fulfilling era for all in Saudi Arabia.

Saturday, October 7, 2017

On October 7, 2017, Ben Hubbard of the New York Times reported on the '47', those women who drove in 1990 in defiance of the ban on women driving. This is a landmark piece as it interviews several of the driving activists and tells what happened to them after their driving demonstration. A link to the story is here, and the story is pasted in below.

A pair of married couples
celebrating the news of Saudi women being able to drive. The husbands
stood outside their cars as their wives posted selfies.Credit
Tasneem Alsultan for The New York Times

They
were arrested, suspended from jobs, shunned by relatives and denounced
by clerics as loose women out to destroy society. Their offense? They
did what many in Saudi Arabia considered unthinkable: getting in cars
and driving.

Their
protest in 1990 against the kingdom’s ban on women driving failed, and
the women paid dearly for it, with the stigma of being “drivers”
clinging to them for years.

So last month, when King Salman announced that the ban on women driving would be lifted next June, few were happier than the first women to demonstrate for that right — almost three decades ago.

“I’d
thought maybe I’d die before I saw it,” said Nourah Alghanem, who had
helped plan the protest. Now she’s 61 and retired with five
grandchildren. “What’s important is that our kingdom entered the 21st
century — finally!”

The
backlash against the 47 women who protested illustrates how deeply the
driving ban was embedded in Saudi Arabia’s conservative society,
reinforced by the state and its religious apparatus.

But
since then, globalization, social media, economic pressures and
leadership changes finally created the conditions for the ban to end.

These are dizzying days in Saudi Arabia.

Carmakers are now targeting advertisements toward Saudi women, and a women’s university is planning a driving school.

And the changes are not only related to the prospect of so many new drivers on the kingdom’s highways. At a public celebration last month, crowds of men and women danced together as a D.J. played music. An end to the ban on cinemas is expected soon.

But
in 1990, when the four dozen women took an extraordinary risk by
fighting the driving ban, conditions in the kingdom were notably
different.

“I’d thought maybe I’d die
before I saw it,” said Nourah Alghanem, who helped plan the 1990 protest
against the driving ban, which is being lifted next year.Credit
Tasneem Alsultan for The New York Times

Controlling Women

At
the time of the protest, Ms. Alghanem was 34, with a high school
degree, a husband, four children and a job at an elementary school.

“I didn’t have anything interesting in my life,” she recalled.

At
the time, Saudi women were severely restricted. The culture was highly
patriarchal, and clerics, thanks to their alliance with the royal
family, had tremendous power to defend the kingdom against what they
considered to be corrupting influences.

Much of that meant controlling women, and they saw the driving ban as necessary to prevent adultery and other social ills.

“Allowing women to drive contributes to the downfall of the society,” the kingdom’s top cleric at the time wrote in a fatwa that was removed recently from a government website. “This is well known.”

Women
who chafed under the ban saw an opportunity when Saddam Hussein, the
Iraqi strongman, invaded Kuwait in 1990. American forces flooded the
kingdom, including American servicewomen who drove military vehicles.
Kuwaiti women who had fled the invasion also drove.

Ms. Alghanem took note.

“I saw that we as Saudi women were powerless,” she said.

She
invited other women to her home to discuss the issue, and they later
decided to take action. They sent a letter to Salman — at the time the
governor of Riyadh Province — telling him that they planned to drive.

They
never heard back, they said, so on Nov. 6, 1990, they met near a
supermarket in Riyadh, piled into 14 cars piloted by women with valid
foreign licenses and drove around town.

They
were social outliers, backed by no political party, and other Saudi
women did not rush to join them. Many came from affluent families and
had studied abroad. They included teachers, professors, a social worker,
a photographer and a dentist.

Most
were married with children; at least two were pregnant. One woman
joined late, with her two daughters, one of whom was breast-feeding.
Some had defied their male relatives to show up. Supportive husbands and
brothers dropped off others at the meeting place.

Word
spread, and the women were stopped by both the traffic police and the
religious police, some of whom furiously banged on the cars.

“‘I
want to dig a hole to bury you all!’” Fawziah al-Bakr, an education
professor, recalled one man shouting at her. “They were thinking that we
were going to destroy this country.”

They
were taken to the police station and released around dawn, after they
and their male relatives signed pledges that the women would not drive
again.

“It is not just driving a
car, it is driving a life,” said Asma Alaboudi, a school social worker
who participated in the 1990 protest.Credit
Tasneem Alsultan for The New York Times

Furious Backlash

The
next morning, Asma Alaboudi, a school social worker who had
participated, overheard her colleagues saying that the women at the
protest had burned their clothes, worn bikinis and danced in the streets
— all grave acts that had not happened.

Soon, the women’s names were distributed, inflaming public anger.

King Fahd issued a decree suspending those who had government jobs, and preachers excoriated them during Friday prayers.

“At that point, the society revolted,” Ms. Bakr recalled.

Monera
Alnahedh, who later became an international development worker, said
her father quit praying at his local mosque after the preacher said the
women had been inseminated by 10 men.

Officials from the Interior Ministry came to the home of Madeha Alajroush, a photographer, to confiscate and destroy all her negatives — 15 years of work.

“That was a way of punishing me,” she said.

Some friends and relatives shunned the women.

“It was a very, very scary environment,” Ms. Alajroush said.

Photo

Monera Alnahedh, who became
an international development worker, said her father quit praying at his
local mosque after the preacher said the protesting women had been
inseminated by 10 men.Credit
Tasneem Alsultan for The New York Times

‘A Decade of Silence’

The harsh response from the state and society buried the issue of women driving.

“It
was a very heavy blow on the women who drove, and it was perceived by
the society as a very heavy blow,” said Ms. Alnahedh, the development
worker. “There was a decade of silence.”

The suspended women struggled to find work, with some choosing to pursue advanced degrees.

About two years later, a princess intervened with the king, who returned them to their jobs and paid some of their lost wages.

Many
of the 47 faded into private life, while others looked for ways to help
women at girls’ schools, women’s universities and in programs for
abused women and children.

After she participated in the
protest, officials from the Interior Ministry came to the home of
Madeha Alajroush, a photographer, to confiscate and destroy all her
negatives, 15 years of work, as punishment.Credit
Tasneem Alsultan for The New York Times

Slowly, society changed.

University
enrollment for both women and men rose, and in 2005, King Abdullah
created a scholarship program that sent hundreds of thousands of young
Saudis, including many women, abroad, broadening their perspectives.

He added women to the Shura Council, an advisory body, and social media spread among the kingdom’s youth, giving them freedom online that they lacked in real life.

The
internet eroded the monopoly Saudi clerics had on religious
interpretation, and many Saudis realized how differently Islam was
practiced in other countries.

In
2014, Loujain Hathloul tried to cross the border from the United Arab
Emirates into Saudi Arabia in her car and was jailed for 73 days.

Few of the women who had driven in 1990 joined the new protests, but they cheered the younger women.

“We
were very angry,” Ms. Alajroush, the photographer, said of Ms.
Hathloul’s detention. “But inside of me, I thought that was a big step
forward because finally we were taken seriously.”

Photo

Fawziah al-Bakr, a professor,
with her son, Motaz Alyahya, in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia. She was one of
the 47 women who took to the road in 1990 to demand the right to drive.Credit
Tasneem Alsultan for The New York Times

A woman parking her car in a
town in Saudi Arabia owned by the oil company Aramco. In this so-called
“mini-America,” woman are allowed to drive.Credit
Tasneem Alsultan for The New York Times

“It
is natural that they are happy that they have been given their legal
right that they had demanded before,” Prince Abdulrahman bin Musaid, a
businessman, wrote on Twitter. But he called the idea that the women’s “struggle” had influenced the decision “a great fantasy.”

The women believe the government will not acknowledge them so as not to encourage other activists.

Many
restrictions on women remain, including so-called guardianship laws
that give Saudi men power over their female relatives on certain
matters. But the original protesters are overjoyed that their daughters
and granddaughters will have freer lives than they did, thanks to the
automobile.

“That
I am driving means that I know where I am going, when I’m coming back
and what I’m doing,” said Ms. Alaboudi, the social worker.

“It is not just driving a car,” she said, “it is driving a life.”

Correction: October 7, 2017
An earlier version of a picture caption with this article
misidentified a Saudi woman who took to the road in 1990 to demand the
right to drive. She is Meshael al-Bakr, not Fawziah, who is her sister.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Saudi women's rights activist and best-selling author, Manal al-Sharif, wrote this opinion piece for the Washington Post dated October 5, 2017. A link to the story is here, and the text is pasted below. The world has been waiting for Ms. al-Sharif to speak up about the news that women will be able to get driver's licenses in Saudi Arabia. And she has spoken! Bravo, Manal!

Saudi Arabia is finally freeing itself from the grip of
decades of religious fundamentalism. The key to this change? Car keys.
On Sept. 26, the Saudi government formally announced that it would
lifted the ban on women driving. Saudi writers have compared the
struggle that led to this day to the battle of the royal decree to open
the first government girls’ school in the kingdom. The decree came three
decades after the founding of Saudi Arabia. But this revolutionary
moment is about so much more than driving. It is about changing the very
direction of the country.
Denying women the right to drive has imposed huge costs on Saudi citizens. Up to 1.5 million foreign men must be paid to work as drivers. Many neither speak nor read Arabic, and some of these “drivers” have never driven a car before. A paltry 15 percent of Saudi women work outside their homes,
in part because hiring a private driver can cost between one-third and
two-thirds of a woman’s salary. Saudi men must be responsible for the
transportation of their wives, sisters and mothers. In desperation,
women without access to male drivers have put boys as young as 9 years
old behind the wheel, propped up on pillows to see over the dashboard.
It is no wonder that the kingdom has among the highest traffic fatality rates in the world.
Beyond the social and economic costs, literally forcing
women to remain in the backseat has hobbled Saudi Arabia’s global
progress. It has the world’s second-largest proven oil reserves
but ranks behind Cyprus and Malta on the United Nations Human
Development Index. Now at last we have a path forward: an open Saudi
society for men and women.
Driving is a start. It can
help end the larger oppressive guardianship system, which requires women
to obtain permission from a male relative for the most basic decisions
and activities. (Interestingly, the kingdom has announced that a woman
will not need permission from her guardian to obtain a driver’s
license.)
Today, guardianship and control over women are
less about ancient traditions inside the kingdom — after all, the
prophet Muhammad married a successful businesswoman — than about
fundamentalist religious forces enforcing their grip on society. Many of
the current restrictions on women were imposed after the neighboring
Iranian Revolution and the armed seizure of Mecca’s Grand Mosque by
Sunni radicals for two weeks in 1979. Following those events, women
disappeared from Saudi state television and newspapers, coupled with a
huge crackdown on women employment. Fundamentalists also renewed their
calls to end women’s education. But the current generation of Saudi
women has refused to listen. Women now make up more than half of all
Saudi university students — 51.8 percent as of 2015, according to the Ministry of Education.
For the first time, I dare to dream of a different Saudi
Arabia in the coming years. I have 10 wishes for women’s equality in my
country: I wish for a kingdom where the guardianship system ceases to
exist; where at 18 or 21 years of age, women are recognized by law as
adults; where women can study for any college degree that they want,
including the “male-only” degree of engineering; where women can work in
any field they choose; where women who have been jailed do not need a
male guardian’s permission to leave; where it is a crime to marry off a
child; where women are appointed as ambassadors and ministers and heads
of organizations; where Saudi mothers can pass their citizenship on to
their children; where the law protects mothers and children; and where
women can compete as athletes on any playing field.
More
change is coming. For the first time in the kingdom’s history,
leadership is passing to a younger generation. Saudi Arabia has long
been known for its octogenarian kings, but today the crown prince,
Mohammed bin Salman, is only 32. As he told
The Post’s David Ignatius in April, “I’m young. Seventy percent of our
citizens are young. We don’t want to waste our lives in this whirlpool
that we were in the past 30 years. We want to end this epoch now. We
want, as the Saudi people, to enjoy the coming days, and concentrate on
developing our society and developing ourselves as individuals and
families, while retaining our religion and customs. We will not continue
to be in the post-’79 era. That age is over.”
Seven
years ago, I cried on the streets of Saudi Arabia. I cried because after
a doctor’s appointment, I could not find a male driver to take me home.
I had to endure harassment as I walked alone. I had an American
driver’s license and I knew how to drive, but the government would not
allow it. To drive while female was punishable by arrest and jail time.
Indeed, in May 2011, I was arrested and jailed after I drove on Saudi
streets as part of the June 17th movement to protest the ban. Last week,
I cried again, but my tears were tears of joy. In June 2018, seven
years after that protest, Saudi women will be free not only to drive
their own cars but also to be the drivers of their own lives.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

AlArabiya.net reported on the first Saudi woman to be granted a driver's license. A link to the story is here and the text is printed below.

Mohamed al-Harbi, AlArabiya.netSunday, 1 October 2017

Sixty six years ago, a judge granted one woman a license to drive in Saudi Arabia.

Historian
Abdulkarim al-Hawqil, speaking to Al Arabiya about what happened at the
time, said that the story involved a blind man who had two daughters
and a car that was driven by one of them in order for her to care for
her father with ease.

There were times when the man would sell items in a local market.

"At
that time, people in the market considered it a disgrace," Hawqil said.
"How can a lady drive the car? It is strange for them to see behind a
woman behind a steering wheel."

The
historian went on to say: "The market people took the blind man and his
daughters to a judge, Sheikh Ali bin Suleiman al-Roumi. He listened to
the words of the blind man and his circumstances and the for his
daughter to drive the car.

“The judge became the first to allow a woman to drive in Saudi Arabia, 66 years ago.”

Adam Workman of the National reported the following on September 30, 2017. A link to the story is here, and you can find the story below. I advise following the link to the story so you can see all the graphics and gifs.

Hot on the heels of the excellent news that women in Saudi Arabia
will finally be allowed behind the wheel, came countless advertising
campaigns with the aim of wooing this unexpected new market.
There have been some clever graphic design campaigns paying heed to
the traditional Saudi dress code, but as I scrolled through numerous
adverts “welcoming” these women drivers, something niggled me. Behind
the “good-vibes” show of support for the decision, opportunism lurks.
Here we take a look at some of the adverts that have come out since the announcement by King Salman, just five days ago.Jaguar Mena

The
stop-motion animation of Jaguar Mena's effort is cute enough. But a
handbag featuring spilled contents is a little stereotypical.Cadillac Arabia

This contribution to me is an airbrushed vision of the past that
seems to hint that women should maintain their modesty, despite their
newfound transportation freedom.

Ford Middle East

This eyes-in-the-rear-view mirror concept is certainly
attention-grabbing. The niqab-draped view out of the front windscreen
behind the main focal point suggests a level of driving visibility that
looks frankly dangerous.Nissan Middle East

Keeping it simple appears to have been the smartest option: Nissan
Middle East's 2018 GRL KSA number plate is a lesson in classy minimalism
that succeeds in telling the story without resorting to tired
gender-courting shenanigans. Although even saying girl as opposed to
women is a little patronising.
It will be interesting to see the uptake from women drivers in the
kingdom when the ban is lifted next year – no doubt many will still be
kept from the driver’s seat by familial and societal pressures. But in
celebrating this leap forward, let’s not be swayed into thinking that
the car manufacturers deserve any particular praise.

Habib Toumi, bureau chief of Gulf News, wrote the following story that appeared on September 30, 2017. You can find a link to the story here. Text is below.

Amsa learnt to drive to take her mother to hospital for regular treatment

Manama: A Saudi woman who has been driving clandestinely for 40 years
welcomed the decision to allow women to drive in the kingdom, saying it
would greatly help them.
Amsa Bint Hadhel said in the four
decades she had been driving in Al Baha, in south-western Saudi Arabia,
she never had any problems, was never harassed, and was never arrested
or booked by traffic police.

“I
learnt to drive out of necessity, and not because I was idle or had
ample time to spend or wanted to show off,” she said in remarks
published by Saudi daily Okaz on Saturday.

“As
a young woman, I used to go with my uncle whenever he drove into town. I
watched carefully how he drove, and I learnt how to drive and fix a
vehicle.”
When Amsa grew up, she had to take care of her sick mother who needed regular medical treatment.
“We
needed to transport her regularly to the public hospital, and I was the
only one available as my father was no more. When I got married, one of
my conditions was that I be allowed to drive without any problems. My
husband had to move to Riyadh, where he worked, and I stayed back home
with my mother, and I had to drive her to hospital.”
Amsa said she was very careful not to get into trouble as her mother needed her.
“I
had no problem with the family and my community as they understood the
need for me to drive. For avoiding the traffic police, I used dirt roads
to take my mother to the hospital. It was tough job but I did it as I
wanted to look after my mother.”
Amsa said she was looking forward to June 2018, when women will be officially allowed to drive in Saudi Arabia.
“I
pray for King Salman [Bin Abdul Aziz] because his decision will ease
the situation for so many women. Unfortunately, most people are not
really aware of how they [women] have been suffering,” she said.

The Arab News reports on October 1, 2017 that the all-women university, Princess Nourah University, will open a driving school for women. A link to the story is here, and the text is pasted in below.

JEDDAH: Princess Nourah Bin Abdulrahman University announced on Saturday
that they are ready to establish a driving school for women in
cooperation with the relevant authorities. The university made the
announcement on their twitter account, adding that their decision comes
in line with the Royal directive to allow women to drive equally with
their male peers in the Kingdom.

King Salman issued the decree last Tuesday, according to a royal court statement carried by the Saudi Press Agency (SPA).

“The royal decree will implement the provisions of traffic regulations,
including the issuance of driving licenses for men and women alike,” the
SPA said.

The decree orders the formation of a ministerial body to give advice on
the practicalities of the edict within 30 days and to ensure the full
implementation of the order by June 2018.

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About Me

I'm a freelance writer based in Maine. I lived in Saudi Arabia for many years. I studied Arabic in college eons ago and married my college sweetheart, a fellow Arabic student. My first novel, A CARAVAN OF BRIDES, is set in Saudi Arabia. I'm working on my second novel while writing feature stories about the Middle East. I am also the co-founder and Administrative Director of the Arabic Music Retreat.